


i hope it's you (they put me in the ground by)

by yournabi



Series: before iyth [1]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Ballerina Mina, Dancer Momo, F/F, Mutual Pining, idk if this is slow burn, inspired by niki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yournabi/pseuds/yournabi
Summary: Momo has a stupid crush on an unattainable ballerina. It's really complicated.Or,Momo likes Mina and Mina likes her back, but Momo doesn't know that so she tries to set Mina up with someone else. It's really just complicated.
Relationships: Hirai Momo/Myoui Mina
Series: before iyth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598755
Comments: 12
Kudos: 102





	i hope it's you (they put me in the ground by)

**Author's Note:**

> what led to the lovey dovey mimo in iyth

When Hana told her that backpacking to Tokyo would be much like traveling to a different country all by herself, Momo didn’t believe her sister.

(“Ah, stop joking around, neechan.” She throws a breadstick at the older Hirai. Their mother scolds them, but Momo and Hana in one room is _always_ a mess.

“I’m not!” Hana grunts. “Then don’t believe me.” She huffs, grabs the breadstick on the floor, and shoves it into her mouth, much to their mother's headache. “But you know I’m always right, Momoring.”)

Momo should have known better than to doubt her sister who, more-than-once, guided her to trouble, but always done everything with good intentions. (Except that one time she made Momo eat ‘cookies’ for an entire week only to reveal at the end that it was dog food all along)

Now, Momo is exactly regretting her decisions of backpacking to Tokyo, using up _most_ of her savings to enroll in a fancy dance school and not for an actual place to stay at for the meantime, ultimately leaving her cooped up in a small all-girls dorm 10 minutes away from her building. 

As if that wasn't enough to cause Momo her impending doom, she finds out that her savings _still_ aren't enough to pay for the miscellaneous fees such as the stupidity that is happening before her as of the moment.

"What do you mean they're not for free?" Momo is _exasperated._

This morning is not going her way. She hasn't eaten breakfast, is now late for her class, and is suddenly informed that practice rooms are only accessible if reserved early and paid for.

And that's not even the big issue here.

Momo's predicament involves the fact that she just paid ¥18,500 for a stupidly expensive dance school's one whole month's worth of classes, and apparently, it doesn't even involve public accessibility of the practice rooms. She has to pay an additional of ¥4,000 per use of the high-tec and fancy dance rooms.

_Is the world really revolving around money nowadays?_

If so, Momo is _doomed._

"What if I can't pay for the dance rooms?" The only money Momo has left in her wallet is ¥2,300 for her food expenditures and less than what is needed for the practice room rentals in her debit card.

Son Yeonjae, a nice Korean girl who's studying gymnastics and is also Momo's only friend in the dance studio, frowns. "The podium is open for the public. You can use that." 

As much as Yeonjae wanted to help, she was only enrolled under a special program where she had her own personal dance room and coach. Momo recalls Yeonjae saying something about training for some national competition. 

"The podium is open for _everyone_ ", Momo whines. "It's always so crowded and noisy, I won't be able to even hear my own song." 

Yeonjae accepts defeat with a sigh. "Then what are you going to do now? We have to figure out a way before I go in a few minutes. I still have to meet with my coach."

It's endearing, Momo thinks, that Yeonjae is suddenly thrown into her life just when she thought Tokyo would eat her alive. 

Son Yeonjae is Korean but has spent most of her life in Tokyo, training gymnastics. On the day Momo was enrolling for the studio, she met the gymnast whose genre of dance is at the opposite end of the spectrum but personality not far from her own bubbly and optimistic nature.

"I don't know what to doooo", Momo whines, shuts her eyes in distress while rubbing smooth circles on her temples to alleviate the growing headache. "I just want to dance, you know? I didn't expect Tokyo to be this...this…" with all of the pent-up frustration in Momo's heart, she shouts, "...awful!"

Yeonjae, for what feels like the hundredth time since she met up with Momo in front of the studio earlier that morning, lets out a deep sigh. She thinks deeply and ponders on her schedule for the day. Unlike Momo's schedule, hers is jampacked with personal coaches and workouts. Even if she wanted to let Momo use her dance room, it wouldn't be possible because she'll be using it the entire day. 

But the sight of Momo greatly frustrated and losing her end of the deal is also putting Yeonjae in distress. All Momo wanted was to dance. She worked part-time jobs to save money for the fees of an exorbitant dance school only to be told that she _still_ has to pay in order to get a place to dance at. 

Yeonjae feels a clench in her heart at the sight of a bubbly Momo looking so defeated. It pushes the gymnast to an absurd proposal, something she knows she might regret soon. 

"How about I sneak you in?"

Momo opens her eyes. "Sneak me in?" 

"You know the secret floor, right?"

The gleam of hope in Momo's eyes flicker away as fast as Yeonjae's attempt to explain all about the secret floor, "I can get you in there. There are a lot of unused dance rooms there because only those with personal coaches use them."

Momo snorts. "Personal coaches _and_ money." 

She knows all about the secret floor, alright. 

There are floors allotted for the dance rooms used by average-paying students (because ¥18,500 was still considered mediocre around here), one whole floor of the podium for general use (aka the _poor_ students, example: Momo), and then there were the secret floors above.

Momo knows much because Yeonjae uses a dance room on the secret floor. For the lack of better word, it was only for the VVIP students. 

"How will you sneak me in?" Momo _isn't_ considering this. She's simply asking for Yeonjae to elaborate. 

"Well, we have IDs to get in", Yeonjae shows the identification card clipped at the end of her **Tokyo Dance** lanyard. "And they don't really have guards roaming around there. Only coaches and students get in. They wouldn't recognize you even if they tried. Just act normal and blend in."

Momo isn't considering this. She can't lie just to get herself a dance room. Her parents taught her better. She couldn't possibly live with a boulder on her shoulder knowing that she's pretending to be someone she's not and worse, using someone else's belongings without permission. Dancing can wait. Momo will not let herself get lured into the temptations.

***

As expected, VVIPs _always_ get the good treatment. 

"Woah, you have a bar here…" Momo's eyes gleam at the sight of a marble bar greeting the corridor lined by frosted glass panel doors. It had drinks displayed, ranging from herbal tea to protein shakes. 

Momo swoons at the beautiful bottle of sparkling water, only to be pulled back by her friend. 

"I wanted one–!"

"Those aren't for free!" Yeonjae points towards the pricetag Momo _definitely_ did not see. "It's ¥1,200 for one bottle."

Momo feels her soul leave her body. "Eh!? That much for one bottle?!"

Yeonjae laughs at the reaction. "Yes, but this", she grabs a paper cup on the marble counter and reaches for a mason jar dispenser Momo _also_ did not notice. 

"It's free." She hands the paper cup to Momo before grabbing another cup and pushing the dispenser tap. 

Momo smells the unfamiliar-looking drink skeptically. "What is it?"

"Lemon infused water." 

"Wow…" 

Momo will never understand rich people. 

***

They arrive in front of the frosted door of Yeonjae's dance room without any problems, until the gymnast pushes open the door and is greeted by the sour face of her Russian coach and her thick-accented English (Momo assumes) reprimanding Yeonjae.

The two argue for a while, Momo suddenly a wall beside her friend, until Yeonjae's coach finally notices her presence.

It only occurs to Momo then and there: she shouldn't be seen by Yeonjae's coach. 

"Who is this?" The woman asks in English. Momo doesn't understand and only throws Yeonjae an anxious look. 

Yeonjae, thankfully, is always a step–or a mile–ahead of her Japanese friend. "She's my friend." She answers back in better, slick English, voice suddenly deeper and sultry.

Momo doesn't understand her friend but she's watched enough American shows (more like _snooped_ at Hana's laptop while _she_ watched the western shows) to say that Yeonjae sounds completely like the Americans she sees on TV.

They talk for a little more before the coach steps inside the dance room and Yeonjae pulls Momo away to the corridor.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing much. Just said you looked like you danced urban and I said yeah. Also", Yeonjae begins dragging her down the hall. Momo only relents. 

They stop in front of another door. **328.** Unlike the other ones they passed by, this one looks unoccupied because the lights from inside are turned off.

"I think this is good enough." Yeonjae turns the knob and pushes open the door. Momo scowls. They have IDs for the one main door at the start of the hall but don't have secret codes for _personal_ dance rooms.

_The heck?_

A voice calls for Yeonjae down the hall and the girl hurries to get Momo inside, lightly pushing her in before her coach calls for her again. 

"Let's have snacks together later." Yeonjae smiles before closing the door in front of Momo's face and running away, leaving the clueless Japanese alone inside the dark and _cold_ room.

A sigh leaves Momo's lips as she realizes she just lost to her temptations _yet again._

There's no turning back now. She doesn't have the ID to get through the main doors down the corridor. Instead of retreating, Momo simply decides to just go along her decisions. 

_It would be a total waste if I didn't use the opportunity to dance._

Momo turns around and takes a good scan at what all the fuss about VVIP dance rooms were for. 

The room is spacious, probably a little bigger than the size of Momo's middle school classroom, with smooth wooden panel flooring, its own heating system, and one entire wall of mirror with its own railing perhaps for stretches and warm-ups. A large flatscreen television is mounted on the wall next to Momo; there are speakers on all four corners of the room, an inverter, and a chiller for drinks found by the wall adjacent to the big mirror. 

Momo holds her gym bag close to herself and walks towards the shelves beside the chiller through the dark, cold room. She places her bag on the shelf and doesn't bother leaving her jug inside the chiller. Somehow, it feels like she's succumbing to something she's against: _social_ _injustice._ (She doesn't know how to explain why)

She walks over to the wall beside the door where the light switch is found and flips it on. 

Just as she turns around to walk over towards the center of the spacious room and do her regular warm-ups, Momo freezes in her place and meets eyes with a _girl_. 

_A really pretty girl._

She's sitting on the floor, knees tucked into her chest, hugged close by her arms. Her face is held up slightly, and despite the shock on it, Momo is taken aback by her beauty more than by the realization that someone's seen her steal a dance room.

The girl's hair is a light tone of brown, wavy and long, cascading down both her shoulders, framing her petite face. Rosy cheeks are tainted with a constellation of moles, lips full in burgundy shade, and unlike the girls Momo has seen roaming around the fast-paced streets of Tokyo, this girl had bare beauty. Not an inch of makeup could be seen on her face and yet she still looked breathtaking. 

If Momo wasn't into girls she would have been envious _._

But there is one detail she notices quickly, an ability enhanced by all the mornings after Hana occasionally watched The Notebook where she would eat breakfast with her entire face swollen. 

The breathtaking girl staring aghast at Momo like she's looking at a three-headed monster, had been crying.

"I..uh–"

But before she could get a word out, completely dazed and gitery by the presence of a beauty, another foreign voice speaks up from behind Momo followed by the sound of the knob rattling. 

_Oh yeah, I locked it—_

Momo tries to slowly back away and reach for the door, but the events sure do escalate quickly because the next thing she knows, the breathtaking girl suddenly has her fingers gripping tightly on Momo's wrist, dragging her to one of the doors at the other side of the room and shoving her inside like a hostage.

What's even _more_ surprising is when the girl joins her inside the small, dark room.

"Uh…" 

"Shh!" 

Momo keeps her lips sealed together. 

Somehow, she finds herself taken aback by the swift transformation of the beautiful girl's emotions. One second she was crying and sitting on the floor like a lost kid, the next second she's dragging Momo by the hand into a weird-smelling room and commanding her to shut up.

Momo, weirded out as she is, finds herself attracted to the strange, pretty girl. 

Their silence allows them to perfectly hear the knob unlocking and the sound of light footsteps. 

The girl is leaning on the door, the side of her face pressed up against it to listen in. Momo is standing behind the girl, trying to call for her night vision skills and scan the room because she _swears_ she can smell _something awful_.

While the other girl keeps herself still and silent, and Momo _tries_ her best to do the same, clumsiness simply is a part of the dancer and will never be held back even at the moments it's not needed– _wanted_. 

Momo accidentally presses something while trying to hold herself up. The sound of water swirling is ear-piercing in their silence. 

She just flushed a toilet. 

"Mina?" Whoever's outside must be a big woman. Her voice can rival that of Hana's drunken one. (And Hana is a _loud, angry_ drunk)

Momo hears the girl in front of her aggressively whisper something incoherent. _Did she just curse?_

"In the toilet, sensei.” There’s a grunt that follows shortly and even if Momo can’t see with the darkness of the room, she can vividly imagine the distressed frown on the girl’s face. “I think I ate something bad…!” 

She reaches for the flush again, lightly brushing her hand on Momo’s arm (sending her into a _frenzy_ ), and pushes it down. The toilet makes a swishing and gurgling sound again. 

If Momo weren’t so bothered by the nonexistent imprint of the pretty girl’s soft touch on her arm, she would think that only a dumbo would believe this girl’s acting. She once tried doing the same thing just to get out of school. Hana believed her. But that’s because Hana is only a few levels below Momo’s own denseness. 

Surely nobody would believe this girl’s--

“Okay! I’ll head out for a bit now. I want to see the routine when I get back, okay?”

Momo hears a relieved sigh. “Will do, sensei!”

They remain frozen in their places, until the sound of the door closing resonates around the empty dance room and the pretty girl is soon opening the door again and stepping out hastily. 

Momo hisses at the light hitting her eyes. _Was it this dark inside? Or maybe it’s the angel standing in front of me?_

“Uh…” Momo can’t even move a step. The pretty girl is looking straight at her with a soft expression, far from mad but definitely not pleased as well. It just looks like she’s... _feeling_ something.

“Are you from the urban classes?”

_Her voice. Oh my god._

It sounded so alluring and eloquent in Nihongo, Momo thinks she’s been blessed to be at the receiving end of such a heavenly sound. 

“Excuse me...?” 

Momo’s staring.

“Oh...uh, yeah.” _Pull yourself together, Momo._ Without even sparing a thought, Momo stretches her arm out and offers a hand. “I’m Hirai Momo, from the urban dance.” 

It’s alarming how Momo easily succumbs and loses her _charisma_ in front of girls. If it were a man before her, she would have just frowned distastefully and walk away, as if she didn’t just barge into someone else’s dance room and pretended like she owned it. 

It must be the universe’s revenge on Momo’s subtle misandry, however, because the pretty girl does _exactly_ the same and just looks at her, though not distastefully but the unmitigated reluctance is there. 

It’s as if saying she’s not exactly _appalled_ or _disgusted by human contact with a poor girl like Momo_ but she’s just _not the type_ to accept random handshakes from someone _like_ Momo. 

Momo, honestly, doesn’t know why her mind works the way it does most of the time.

She pulls her hand back sheepishly. “Uh...I...I’ll go now…” 

Momo walks back to retrieve her bag from the shelf, silently hoping the girl calls out for her again so she can turn around and see the girl’s breathtaking face one last time, but the girl only stands still and quiet, watching as Momo silently and defeatedly, walks out of the dance room. 

_You’ve embarrassed yourself once again, Momo._

***

It’s quite funny how her friendship with Yeonjae has blossomed into something more intimate than just close colleagues. Intimate in a sense that Yeonjae has pretty much lost her respect for Momo and has found amusement in the Japanese girl’s suffering. 

“I’m serious! Someone was inside as well!” Momo lets out an unbearable whine for the nth time, face hiding behind her hands. She doesn’t care how loud she is. Yeonjae picked the right noisy place to eat after class. 

The gymnast lets out another chuckle. It’s not the shit-eating kind of sound which makes it even more annoying for Momo because Yeonjae’s graceful laugh would probably sound the same as the pretty girl’s from earlier--if only Momo had the chance to hear it. 

“She was _sooo_ pretty, _oh my god!_ ” A detailed image of the girl’s face is imprinted on the front of Momo’s mind, she couldn’t even think of anything else after dashed out of the dance room. “I couldn’t even focus on my routine anymore! I kept thinking of her! What am I going to present on the monthly evaluation now!?”

Yeonjae looks at Momo the way Momo would wish her _future_ girlfriend would: amused but with all the love in the world. 

She picks on a piece of chicken with her fork from their plate of greasy yakitori and slips it into her mouth in an attractively elegant way, Momo can’t believe they’re eating at a cheap food truck at some back alley near her dorm, and not at some fancy restaurant with the table napkins and jazz music playing in the background. 

“What’d you say her name was again?” Yeonjae only says after she swallows down her chicken with a plastic cup of water. “Maybe I know her.” 

Momo only snorts and begins jabbing on her chicken skewers like a bratty child. “And what if you do? Would that help me regain my sanity back because if it will, then sign me up, Yeonnie.” 

Yeonjae lets out another one of her refined giggles yet again. “I don’t necessarily guarantee that but…” 

The ‘but’ catches Momo’s attention. “But what?” Her friend’s sporting that adorable smile of her again. “Come on, Yeonnie, _tell meee!”_

“There’s a welcoming banquet later at the directress’ house in Setagaya ward. I don’t know who else is invited apart from...important people...but I bet there’s going to be a _lot_ of pretty girls there so maybe it can get your mind rid of _her_.” 

_Welcoming banquet?_ _At the directress’ house?_

“Wait…” Momo frowns. A wave of questions engulf her whole. “We have a directress?” But that’s the first one that pops out of her mouth. 

Yeonjae nods carefully. “She doesn’t show up a lot but we have one. I think she’s some lawyer?”

“Then what is she doing managing a dance school?” 

“I’m not sure but from what I’ve heard, her granddaughter is a dancer as well?” 

Momo understands but doesn’t have the will to respond anymore. Instead, she focuses on finishing her battered yakitori in one go. 

Yeonjae chuckles before carefully sliding a plastic cup of water over to her friend. “So, will you come with me?” 

“That depends.” Momo says with a mouthful of chicken skewers. Yeonjae _still_ understands her. “Will I be allowed in there? For all I know, students like me aren’t invited because we’re one of the average-paying ones and not like you guys who pay millions and are VVIPs.” 

“First of all, I’m only under a scholarship grant here. I don’t pay _millions_. And second, we’re allowed a plus one.” Yeonjae neatly fixes her fork on her paper plate and dabs a tissue on the side of her lips, wiping away nonexistent evidence of yakitori. “I don’t have anyone to bring with me yet so I was thinking of inviting you.” 

Momo, frankly, feels flustered at the revelation. _She was thinking of inviting me to a fancy dinner with other fancy people like her?_ Questioning her friendship with Yeonjae is a normal occurrence for the Japanese dancer now, as ungracious as it sounds.

Questions like “ _Why would someone like her be friends with me?”_ always resurfaced in her mind, especially at moments where Yeonjae desperately _tried_ to blend in to the life of normal tax-paying people (like eating at back alley food trucks and taking the metro) only to unknowingly fail miserably almost _all the time_ (like eating yakitori with a metal fork and taking the metro only to secretly getting off at the next station to be picked up by her driver--trust Momo, she saw it happen with her own eyes).

Despite everything, Momo is still grateful for Yeonjae. If it weren’t for her, Momo would probably be lying dead like cold meat at an alley somewhere in Tokyo. 

“Okay.” She doesn’t even hesitate anymore, not when Yeonjae’s eyes glimmer happily at her acceptance. 

“I’ll pick you up at your dorm around 8pm.” The gymnast waves her hand for their bill, only to be stopped halfway by her friend. 

Momo sighs. _See?_ “This is a self-service food truck, Yeon. There aren’t any waiters to get your bill. We pay at the counter.” 

“Oh…” Yeonjae sheepishly stands up and pays for their meal. Momo relents this once, shamefully, because she doesn’t have any money to pay with anymore and Yeonjae promised this night to be her treat. 

***

Dressing up was never Momo’s strong point. 

When she backpacked all the way to Tokyo, the only thing inside her ridiculously heavy bags were pairs of tracksuits that could last her a week, undergarments, a towel, and her hygiene essentials. Unlike her sister, Momo could survive with simply shuffling her tracksuits. 

After all, her only purpose in Tokyo was to dance, and tracksuits were the best option for that. It was the best option for _everything..._ until this night happened. 

Frustratingly, she pounds on her keyboard and types a reply back to Yeonjae--who is already on her way to pick her up. 

**19:23** What do u mean it’s required??? O_o

 **19:24** i mean, it’s a banquet momo…  
 **19:24** its supposed to be formal

Momo’s mind goes into a vegetative state. Her body automatically searches for her bed to sit on and think, _think real hard_ , and come up with a plan because she can’t possibly bail on Yeonjae now just because she doesn't have anything to wear. 

_I can’t miss out on the chance to meet all the pretty girls._

But Momo’s mind just doesn’t work that way. Even if she musters up all the willpower and telepathically tell her mind to start working, nothing happens. Momo simply finds herself still in her _best_ tracksuit and her most expensive shoes, with a little makeup on and her hair tied up in a high ponytail, when Yeonjae tells her to come down and meet at the driveway. She brings with her her favorite Meiji marble chocolate just for luck. 

_Yeonjae can’t possibly look that formal, right?_

Wrong. 

The moment Momo steps out of the dorm’s old and stained glass doors, she gets greeted by Yeonjae’s back turned to her, clad in a collared shirt dress that falls down to her knees and platform heels. Her hair is straightened and her bangs are out. 

Momo doesn’t even recognize her friend anymore. “Yeonnie?” 

If Yeonjae hadn’t turned around, Momo would have completely walked away and look somewhere else for her friend. 

“Wow. This is _so_ not you…” Yeonjae looks _girly_ and all dressed-up and Momo is, frankly, surprised. The gymnast had always been an eye-catcher in the dance school but to Momo’s eyes, she was really just a normal type of beauty. 

It never occurred to Momo how pretty her friend was. 

“And _this_ is _so_ you.” Yeonjae looks distastefully at _her_ friend’s attire. “Really? A tracksuit?”

“I don’t have anything else in my closet!” 

Yeonjae only rolls her eyes and reaches out for Momo’s hand. “Come on, we’re going to be late.” 

Momo simply lets herself get dragged by her unusually-strong friend who has the body of a twelve-year-old girl. 

Just when the Japanese dancer starts questioning her decisions of even joining and begins devising every possible route to outrun a petite yet exceptionally-athletic girl like Son Yeonjae, the latter stops in front of a car that has Momo’s mouth hanging open and mind going blank, unaware that she’s practically being shoved inside the _stunning_ Rolls-Royce already. 

Momo stays quiet for the entire half of the ride, until Yeonjae tries to ask her something and she just snaps. 

“You have a Rolls-Royce?!”

Yeonjae feels like she just got blown back by Momo’s voice. “Why are you shouting?!”

Momo sinks back down her seat. Her fine leather seat. “Oh, sorry.” She runs a hand carefully on the intricate interior of the luxurious car. “I was just surprised. Is this what you ride whenever you get off at the station?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I saw you get off at the first station once and followed you.” 

Yeonjae narrows her eyes at her friend. “You sound like a creepy stalker.” 

“I am _not_ a creepy stalker. I only did that because I was also getting off at the same station” Momo rebuts. “Anyways, I saw you get picked up by a car. I couldn’t see what it was, though.” 

“So you have a fascination of cars…?” 

Momo shakes her head slightly, looks out at the magnificent view of the Tokyo nightlife. “Not really but my dad has, and he _always_ shared his fascination of it even though we only drive a kei truck back home.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I guess living with him my entire life, it kind of rubbed on me.” 

Yeonjae can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “A man can dream. And besides, it’s...cute...how you know all these kinds of things.” 

That gets Momo to glance at her friend. There’s something laced in Yeonjae’s tone that Momo can’t quite comprehend, so she tries her best to alleviate the unfamiliar solemnity she feels.“You think I’m stupid but I’m actually an autophile.” 

It’s a joke, but Yeonjae’s eyes are heavy and soft at the same time, with a small smile on her lips, it’s actually creeping out Momo now because this isn’t how Yeonjae usually acted around her. 

“First of all, that doesn’t make any sense”, Yeonjae chuckles that elegant laugh again. “Second, I don’t think you’re stupid.” Momo feels really weird right now. “And third, it wasn’t this car. It was a Lexus.” 

But just like that, they return to their old ways. 

“WHAT?”

***

Just when Momo thinks she won’t feel the constant pressure of being financially-unstable, they arrive at the directress’ house. 

Momo can’t even crane her neck high enough to see the roof of the enormous modern house. 

Yeonjae leads them down a Broadway paver pathway lined by warm white ground lights and a beautifully manicured bamboo trees. It feels like a 1 kilometer walk for Momo before they finally arrive in front of the house’s porch where a towering solid wood door greets her. 

Yeonjae presses a button on the intercom system beside the door (it probably has enough money to not settle for a simple doorbell) and stands back, waiting beside a profoundly-impressed and _overwhelmed_ Hirai Momo. 

“If I smack my head on this door right now, my skull would probably crack open.” 

Yeonjae glances at her friend with in a slow manner, a weirded-out frown dipping between her perfectly-shaped brows. “Why would you smack your head--...” 

“Erica!” 

Both women’s attention jerk towards the bubbly English-accented voice. A black-haired girl dressed in a wine-colored skater dress stands before them, statuesque and _striking_ , and has the same built Momo would liken to a gymnast. 

_Pretty Girl #1_

She’s probably a friend, Momo thinks, because she knows Yeonjae enough to know her english name, _Erica Son,_ and quickly tackle the petite girl into a choking embrace. 

“I’m glad you came!” The bubbly girl exclaims in straight English before turning to Momo and widening her smile even more. “And who’s this? Your Plus One?” 

Momo only makes sure she smiles politely enough to not look like a complete dork for not understanding what the hell the two ladies are talking about.

Yeonjae nods and answers in Nihongo, _thankfully._ “Momo, this is Ayako, a friend of mine.” She then turns to the Ayako-named girl and switches to English. “Ayako, this is Momo. She goes to the same school but in urban.” 

“Ah...urban, huh…” This Ayako girl quickly shifts to smooth Tokyo dialect. She offers a hand for Momo to shake. “I’m Ono Ayako, ballet.” 

_Oops…_

“Let’s get you both settled in, shall we?” 

Yeonjae and Momo nod altogether and quickly follow behind as Ayako lead them inside the beautiful, multi-million modern _mansion._

Momo takes a while for the entire situation to settle into her system. Yeonjae switches in between trying to reply to Ayako’s perfunctory attempt at a conversation and trying to shut Momo’s hanging mouth close to avoid flies from coming in. 

Honestly, Momo is extremely overwhelmed at how expensive-looking the house is. Every corner can be a location for a Vogue photoshoot. Even the smallest details and decor of the house can probably pay for Momo’s entire year tuition fee. 

“Stay close.” Yeonjae’s linking of her arm to Momo’s snaps the latter back into reality. 

They’re soon lead outside, to the house’s backyard garden. If Momo liked the interior of the house, she’s in _love_ with its outside. 

The garden is perfectly set up for a formal dinner occasion. The grasses look neatly-trimmed and there are bushes cut into various shapes. Bamboo trees line up the gates that surround the huge lot, ground lights are illuminated every few feet, and a modern fountain sprouts water from a stone wall. 

Momo only notices the eyes looking at her when her state of awed admiration moves over to the long table set up in the middle of the entire garden.

Yeonjae quickly pulls her over to where Ayako leads them, towards the aged woman seated at the front center of the table. 

When both Ayako and Yeonjae bow their heads in a polite greeting, Momo quickly copies and does the same. 

She only looks up when Yeonjae does so. 

“It’s so nice you could come, Erica.” The woman’s voice sounded husky and honeyed, very sweet and nice but pulling Momo to feel something akin to unease. _She sounds like a woman who can have me killed in just one word._

“This is…?” Momo snaps out of her reverie at the jab on her rib from her _lovely_ friend. The woman’s eyes are on her now. 

“Oh, Hirai Momo, sensei. It’s an honor to meet you.” Momo bows again. She can feel the stares of the people around her--especially the directress’--at her obtrusive tracksuit and overall presence.

Momo is sticking out like a sore thumb. _No worries. At least there’s free food._

The woman only smiles half-heartedly and moves past her.

Yeonjae and Ayako exchange some words with the aged woman while Momo decides to scan the directress from top to bottom with the meticulous eye of an eagle. 

Dressed in a diamond-buttoned tweed jacket and a similar-patterned pencil skirt, the woman’s fashion can rival that of Queen Elizabeth’s. 

For someone who, Momo recalls, is a _grandmother_ , the directress looks youthful, like she’s just in her 40s. Her dark eyes are circled with small wrinkles protruding whenever she smiles but completely invisible otherwise. Her nose is sharp and perfectly-sculpted, and her lips a perfect shape.

The woman’s name Momo hears Yeonjae mention is Shigeru Mori. Momo thinks it’s quite the fit for the aged woman. Shigeru means _luxuriant_ and Mori, although with variations, stands out with the meaning _keeper_ or _guard._

_She must be a protective grandmother then…_

Mori-sensei is what she is referred to at the dance school, but within the _beautiful_ modern stone walls of her house, she asks to be called Shigeru-san.

Yeonjae and Momo take their seats somewhere on the other side of the long table, next to Ayako. 

There are quite a lot of guests and the table is almost complete except for that one conspicuous vacant seat on the left Shigeru-san, adjacent to the side where Momo and Yeonjae are seated.

_That must be where her granddaughter will sit…_

“Yeonnie”, Momo whispers as she leans closer to Yeonjae, who’s gracefully taking a sip of her tea, looking like she’s in her _natural habitat,_ with _her_ kind of people. “Where’s Shigeru-san’s granddaughter?”

Yeonjae, thankfully, doesn’t fixate herself with the endless amount of admiration the other guests are flattering her of. She gives Momo equal--if not more--attention. “Shigeru-san’s granddaughter? Hmm...wait.” She turns to the other guests and asks the same question in English.

_Why are they even talking in English? We’re in Japan?_

“Ayako said she’s running late.” Yeonjae responds as she reaches over Momo’s seat for the untouched table napkin, unfolding it and placing it on Momo’s lap. 

Momo feels _eternally_ grateful for Yeonjae’s supervision over her. Even though they’re the same age, Yeonjae almost _always_ acts like she’s Momo’s mother. 

Ayako looks over Yeonjae’s shoulders and at Momo, who’s halfway into chugging down her entire teacup. “Mina-san’s probably still dressing up for the dinner.” 

_The tea tastes amazing. What is this? Mint? Chamomile? Or maybe it’s--wait._ “What?” Momo feels her throat suddenly dry up. “W-What’s her name again?” 

Ayako puts down her teacup. “Mina. Myoui Mina. Shigeru-san’s granddaughter. She’s from ballet as well.” 

_That’s got to be a different Mina, right?_

“Hey, are you okay?” Yeonnie turns to her friend with a concerned frown. Momo only responds with aghast eyes. It’s enough for the gymnast to understand. “Is it...the same Mina you…”

“Oh, she’s here!”

All eyes turn towards the doors but Momo _dares_ not to look. Suddenly, the intricate design of the porcelain teacup is more interesting than anything else in the entire world. 

Most of the guests in the table stand up and greet the upper half of the slender legs and strappy platform heels passing by Momo. 

The same graceful and eloquent voice speaks up, “I apologize for running late, obasan. I was caught up with the--...” 

“Take your seat, Mina. The food will be served.” 

The sharp transformation of the directress’ voice would easily be mistaken by other people as her talking to a subordinate than her own granddaughter, flesh and blood, and Momo only frowns because _that’s not how my grandmother talks to me…_

It takes a lot of willpower to remain seated all throughout the eventful conversations of the people around her. Topics like the which classical music are they using for the presentation or the French name of a certain dance position are thrown here and there, and honestly Momo is literally going to lose her mind if she stays for one more--

“Food is here!”

Thankfully, the food is served.

Whenever food is involved, Momo is automatically transformed into a different version of her. Her eyes only see the silver platters and follow them as the servers place dozens of dishes down the table like a scene in a movie. 

The dishes look like they belong in a 10 Best Traditional Japanese Foods list. Momo literally feels her mouth water at the heavenly sight of such delicacies ranging from Asian to European viands and the four bottles of wine placed on the table. 

“Oh my…” Momo gasps under her breath. A few inches in front of her are platters of ginger pork and pig’s feet. 

_Am I in heaven already?_

Suddenly, all other noises besides from her internal wonderment is blocked out. Momo doesn’t even think of letting anyone get the first piece. The moment the servers place the platter in front of her, she dives in without any hesitation.

***

Momo blocks out all the other noises around her except one. 

It’s not even noise to her ears, _no._ It’s neither unpleasant nor loud. It’s timid and held-back, soft and graceful with every syllable let out. Her Nihongo flows easily just like the first time Momo heard it, but occasionally, she hears a bit of slur in pronunciations and trails of…

_Is that Kansai-ben?_

Momo glances up every so often, when she’s run out of wine or if she needs to ask Yeonjae to reach for another platter of viand. 

Every intermittent glance is held up with an underlying agenda: to catch a glimpse of the pretty girl next to the directress. 

Momo is no ninja; however, because each and every time she tries to catch a glimpse of Mina, the other girl is always either looking away or too immersed in her food. Momo can’t say she can’t relate, she’s been staring at her never-empty plate for the last hour or so now. 

She can’t believe it either when she concludes that she’s finally, for the first time, _full._

_I think I overate…_

Desserts have been served for almost half an hour ago but Momo still hasn’t touched her daifuku. Just looking at the sight of the untouched confection makes her stomach clench and contract, and the acid juice is threatening to--

Momo gags at the threatening digested pig’s feet climbing up her throat. Her stomach only continue to contract and Momo feels nauseous to the brink of her bones. _Oh god._

“Yeonjae…” Momo whispers gutturally at the girl beside her. Her stomach clenches again. “Ow...I think I need to go to the...ow...toilet room?”

At the sight of the pained Japanese, the carefree smile on Yeonjae’s face immediately turns into a concerned frown. “Oh, okay. Wait.” 

She goes to excuse Momo to Shigeru-san before standing up and helping her over. 

Momo immediately declines Yeonjae’s offer to come with her to the toilet. Through her gritted teeth, she dismisses, “You should stay here and talk with your friends....”

Yeonjae looks adamant. “Momo…”

“I won’t go anywhere. I don’t--” Momo’s stomach contracts one last time and successfully, as she feels the acid now at the base of her throat. Without even finishing her words, she runs off inside the house. 

There’s no time appreciating the beautiful details of the modern home, Momo’s too busy trying to look for the toilet which, to her dismay, is like looking for the exit of the world’s most complicated maze.

The tall, thick wooden doors all look alike and there is no one to ask directions to. 

_Ah, what the hell_

Momo knocks on the first odd-looking door she finds right around the corner of what feels like the 7th hall she walked into. 

She pushes at the knob only to be stopped half-way. 

_Nooooooo!_

The digested pig’s feet is filling her entire mouth and it’s not a good feeling and Momo’s stomach is still clenching. 

Momo moves to the next door. The moment the knob slides down fluidly and the door is pushed open in one go, Momo feels like she’s been blessed by all the gods above. 

It doesn’t matter that it’s not the bathroom she just walked in to, that a toilet room _definitely_ doesn’t have an entire wall for a mirror and a barre of its own. What matters is that there’s _another_ door inside the room Momo just barged in to, and that door opens just as fast as the other, and now it’s definitely a toilet room. 

Momo lurches forward and falls on her knees, heaving out what feels like the entire content of her stomach and her intestines as well. The putrid smell that engulfs her only makes her vomit more. 

Honestly, this is the first time her stomach reacted this way. The thought of overeating is still unreal. The word itself doesn’t exist in Momo Hirai’s dictionary but apparently, now it does.

***

Mina didn’t want to come in the first place.

She was late because she was hesitating between spending the night resting on her couch and just playing Tetris or coming to a banquet and having her ruined day get wrecked even more by her grandmother’s innate disappointment on her. 

It’s not even a conjecture anymore. Other people’s assumptions of her—that she’s a spoiled princess by her grandmother, the directress of the dance school she’s attending—are completely fictitious.

It’s a thousand times harder because she’s the directress’ granddaughter. A certain standard has to be met and Mina is _tired_ of never fulfilling her grandmother’s sky-high standards. Sometimes she wonders if the standards were set for her _not_ to meet them. 

_That explanation makes more sense._

Her grandmother’s constant sidelong glances at her attire or at the infrequent times Mina tries to rest her tense shoulders, the way every conversation is suddenly about Ayako’s plan to audition for the lead role in the next production and how hard the older ballerina has been working for it _more than anyone else_ in the table, it’s all her grandmother’s attempts to make sure Mina knows she’s disappointing _the directress again_. 

_Again._

If it weren’t for her mother calling her and asking her wholeheartedly to attend her grandmother’s banquet, Mina wouldn’t have come. 

(“But you’re _her_ granddaughter, sweetie. You're flesh and blood. You should come.”) 

Most of the times, Mina feels more like her grandmother’s lackey than her own flesh and blood. 

_And people think she runs a dance school because of me…_

If only they knew, Mori Shigeru runs the Tokyo Dance not because she has a ballerina granddaughter; rather, she has a ballerina for a granddaughter because she runs the dance school. For that reason, despite the countless urges to remove herself from the family registry, Mina loves ballet and will _always_ find herself tied around the neck by her grandmother. 

“Sharon, aren’t you listening?” 

Mina _almost_ rolls her eyes at her grandmother. The woman’s _always_ wanted to be American but unfortunately, was born in Japan. Because of this, everyone who was under her control had to suffer. 

Mina was given an English name and was born in Texas to fulfill her grandmother’s desires. As if that wasn’t enough, Shigeru was the one who named her Sharon and now everyone who entered her home had to be called and spoken to by their English names. 

_What a xenophile._

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking of something.” Mina takes a sip of her wine.

The directress only lets out a sigh. _A disappointed one._ “We were talking about the Giselle production this April. I told Ayako you’re planning on auditioning for the lead role as well. Right?”

It’s not even an answerable question, just by looking at the meaning behind her grandmother’s smiling eyes. “Yes. I am planning on it.” 

The entire table erupts in a round of applause and congratulatories, as if Mina had already won the role. 

“Is that why you were late?” Someone asks from the other end of the table. It’s a girl Mina doesn’t even know attends the same school as her. “Were you too busy practicing again?” 

_No. I was trying to get out of this dinner._

“Yes. I was trying to clean my routine--” 

“Don’t tire yourself out too much, Mina-san.” It’s the Russian-Japanese student that speaks up, a little too genuine for Mina’s preference. 

The ballerina appreciates the concern but really, there’s no need for it. She’s practicing too hard especially today because someone barged into her dance room and delayed her schedule. (As if crying her heart out was part of it)

“It’s okay I--”

“Uh, sensei, my friend needs to go to the toilet? May we excuse ourselves?” 

Mina is cut short by the Korean girl she can’t remember the name to. _She’s one of the gymnasts...Yujin? Yejoo? Yeonseo? Yeon…_

“Is your friend alright?” Shigeru asks with perfunctory concern. “Go on then.” 

Beside the girl standing up is another girl in a weird tracksuit. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail but she’s too busy looking away for Mina to see her face clearly. 

_She looks familiar…?_

Mina only watches in silence and envy as only the other girl exits the garden and walks inside the house. She too wishes she can be excused but her grandmother would rather die than let Mina off that easily.

_I’ll just have to sit just enjoy the wine then...maybe get tipsy while I’m here._

***

The only perk to having a self-conscious grandmother as a host to a late banquet is her bedtime. 

If there’s one thing Mina will always admire her grandmother for, it’s her sheer dedication to maintaining her youthful looks, and that meant _always_ making sure to be asleep before 10PM. 

By 9PM, Shigeru-san is already excusing herself from the table. 

She wishes everyone to enjoy the meal and have a safe way home with the exception of her granddaughter whom she, characteristically, chastises for finishing her fourth glass of wine. ("I don't want you getting drunk, Sharon.") 

_If only you knew…_

The moment she's out of sight, the table erupts into a different kind of energy, as if a rope around their necks had been untied. At that second, the table of rich, trained, and semi-professional dancers suddenly transformed into the liberated adults they rightfully were, acting like their real ages and not a decade older than how they should behave. (Most of them were in their mid-20s but they were trained to have the manners of a middle-aged socialite)

Someone–Mina remembers as the Thai boy from Hip Hop–whispers out of relief that the directress already left. "Now I can sit properly…" and then he slouches. 

Mina only hides a snort behind her wine flute. Even if she tried losing the tensing on her shoulders and tried to rest the straight rod posture of her back, it wouldn't do any help. It like she was already built that way. After 26 years of being a Myoui, it's kind of impossible to lose the grip her grandmother has on her. 

Conversations about the upcoming production is left unattended in the air and replaced by personal topics like who's dating who and who's free for a yacht party later this week.

As much as Shigeru leaving makes Mina feel less tense and constantly pressured, being in a table full of strangers who only go to the same school as her and knows her name because she's the directress' granddaughter, makes Mina feel _suffocated_ nonetheless. 

There are a dozen of them in the dining table but Mina only knows the name of Ayako, probably because she's who everyone secretly dubs as "Mina Myoui's Greatest Rival" or "Mori-Sensei's Favorite".

Mina isn't complaining about the last one. It's quite apparent how the directress favors the older ballerina over her granddaughter. What Mina is determined to prove herself to is the first monicker.

 _Greatest Rival?_ Frankly, it's an honorable title. Ono Ayako is her senior and the "Face of Tokyo Dance". To be compared to her is an honorable challenge Mina is willing to accept. 

_Improve_. _Not for the directress but for yourself._ That was Mina's life motto. 

And sitting in a table with a bunch of strangers laughing about each other's personal lives will _not_ help her improve. Mina would rather take alleviate her stress through her favorite therapy: _dance._

_Practice._

_Improve._

_Perfect._

In one go, Mina chugs down hee last glass of wine for the night. 

She lets the flute resonate a loud thud as it clashes with the table. She's tipsy but it's part of the therapy. 

Mina stands up in abrupt uncharacteristic manner, the entire table shuts up and all eyes dart towards her.

"Mina-san, are you okay?" It's the Thai boy who asks. Someone mentions his name and Mina finally remembers. _Ah, Bambam._

"I'm just…" She's slurring her words. The alcohol is finally seeping through her veins and running down her bloodstream. "Gonna go home…"

Ayako frowns. "But you’re drunk. Stay for the night. Or at least let me drive you--”

Mina doesn't care nor does she stay to hear any other voices. She doesn't need anybody else telling her what to do. Her grandmother is perfectly capable of doing that task. 

No one tries to stop her anymore.

The moment she leaves the garden in staggers with barely a hand fumbling on walls to keep her stand, Mina finally feels like she can breathe again. 

***

Momo is inside a fancy bathroom.

When she stares at herself in the mirror, what gets her attention isn't the exhausted circles under her eyes from all the sleepless nights spent trying to figure out how to keep herself alive in Tokyo, rather, it’s the beautiful interior of the bathroom she's inside of.

The walls are tiles of shiny black and the flooring is white marble. The circular-shaped vessel sink has a sensored faucet. The toilet seat moves automatically as well. A single-tier shelf is mounted beside the mirror, holding up bottles of soap, shampoo, and conditioner with names Momo can't even pronounce.

_If I can't pronounce the name then it's automatically expensive and if it's expensive then I automatically shouldn’t touch it._

Momo leaves the shelf and focuses on getting the taste of acid out of her mouth. She finishes with splattering water on her face to wake her senses up before stepping out of the fancy bathroom. 

_Yeonnie might be worrying. I should have just—_

"You..."

It only takes a split second for Momo to freeze in her steps. It takes another for her to slowly turn to whoever’s voice just spoke in the room. 

Her entire being leaves the ground and descends up to the heavens the moment she sees who it is. 

The person isn’t even looking at her. She’s talking to herself. 

Mina is seated on the floor, one leg stretched out, reaching over said leg and futilely trying to untie the straps of her platform heels. The other leg is folded to her side, already barefoot. It’s an incredibly straining position, Momo thinks with a worried dip in between her brows, but she won’t risk her life for the sake of trying to help someone untie her heels’ lace. 

Defying the odds of weight and gravity, Momo does her best attempt at tiptoeing towards the doors of the dance room. She takes a little longer than expected after moving in slow, calculated steps, and reaches for the door. 

Honestly, Momo expected better. It’s a well-maintained modern house, after all. The entire place is good enough to become a cultural attraction. It’s absolutely disappointing how they forget to oil this _one_ door. This _one door_ that Momo just happens to be sneaking out of. The only thing between her and freedom.

It just so happened to be this one door that lets out an uncharacteristic creaking sound, loud enough to irritate Momo more. 

_Please don’t let her hear._

Momo attempts to open it more. It only screeches with every miniscule pull. 

_Please please please please--_

“You…” 

Momo freezes. _Is she talking to me?_ She doesn’t dare turn around. 

The silence in the room loud enough to kill Momo’s eardrums. 

“You’re…” 

Momo hears a sound of something being thrown on the floor. It’s the girl’s heels probably. She remains standing like a statue, arm stretched out and glued still on the door knob. One foot is ahead of the other, ready to sprint out of the room. Momo feels like a thief caught red-handed. 

_Maybe I am one…_

“Turn around.”

There’s no use anymore, of pretending to be a statue in hopes that Myoui Mina has the vision of a grandmother with no glasses and mistake her for an actual one. Momo, with her head hanging down like a guilty child caught in the act of stealing a cookie from a jar, turns around to face Mina. 

It takes a terrifying minute for her to say another word. “Come here.” 

Momo, frankly, feels attracted to just follow, however weird Mina’s commands sound like. 

She takes cautious steps towards the directress’ granddaughter and _almost_ falls on her knees before the girl to beg for mercy and not to expel her from the dance school, but her mind goes blank the first step she takes into the girl’s space. 

Momo acknowledges two things:

  1. Her godawful skills in Maths have failed her _once again_ because she’s miscalculated her steps _again_ and now finds herself at least two feet away from Myoui Mina’s breathing space.
  2. The lack of suggested space between them allows Momo to catch a whiff of Mina’s scent. It’s alluring, intoxicating; a mix of expensive perfume and expensive alcohol. 



Momo thinks it’s better to keep some space between them. With her head kept down low, she attempts to step backwards, but Mina stops her with a grip on her hand. 

“Remove this.” It’s all heavy and commanding and far from the timid voice Momo is used to hearing, until Mina adds in a low, soft, and barely audible whisper. “Please...” 

Momo is extensively lost until Mina turns around and grabs a handful of her hair, lifting it up to show the lock of her gold necklace hanging on her nape. 

Momo lifts her hand up warily, only noticing then it had been shaking from the anxiousness, and unlocks the necklace. 

The moment it falls on the floor, Mina lets out a deep outbreath, like she had been set free from a century’s worth of rope tied around her neck. Along with the downfall of the gold necklace is Mina’s body sinking down to the floor. 

Momo only finds herself staring at the girl she’s never seen _this_ close. 

It takes a full minute before Mina looks up at her with a blank face. “What are you doing?” 

Momo only snaps out of her reverie there. “Oh! Uh...I was...I’m just gonna go…” she points towards the door. 

“Stay here”, Mina grunts, nonchalantly stretching out her legs to its sides, forming a ridiculously perfect split. “Sit down.” 

_Is she in gymnastics as well?_

For the (partial) sake of not screwing up in the presence of a _very pretty girl_ that is, at the same time, the directress’ granddaughter, and the whole reason of being unable to have enough power to resist the charms of such an alluring woman, Momo follows quietly and takes the space beside Mina with reasonable distance. 

Momo basks in the stillness of the dance room. She observes its intricacies, noticing how out of place the haphazardly-thrown platform heels and the gold necklace are on the floor. 

In the growing silence of the room, the dancer hears the steady rhythm of everything-- the cadence of her heart, the calculated breaths from her company, and even the faintest sound of the muscles cracking from Mina’s neck as she moves her upper body down to rest her chin on the floor, effortlessly pulling off a straddle split Momo recalls from that one yoga class her sister made her attend.

Being an urban dancer doesn’t correspond to automatic flexibility and when Momo was young, she broke her arm after trying to achieve the zipper test in her physical exams, therefore when Mina stretches out her entire body in such an effortless way, Momo only watches in a feeling of reverential respect mixed with a tinge of fear at the ways she didn’t even know a body could be moved.

“Are you from gymnastics?” Suddenly, Momo couldn’t handle the growing silence anymore. The faint sound of Mina incessantly tapping her fingers on the wooden floor tells her the same. 

“No.” Mina slowly backs up into a proper sit, back straight as a rod. “Ballet, but I do rhythmic from time to time.” 

“That’s amazing”, Momo honestly doesn’t know how it is possible for a person to be so talented. _For someone who’s drunk, she’s amazingly sober._ “And you’re from the Kansai region, right? I noticed the--”

“Look”, Mina, who’s closed her eyes the entire time she had been stretching, stares at Momo through the mirror in front of them. Her eyes are dark and filled with an emotion Momo isn’t quite particularly fond of. “I didn’t ask you to stay so that I could gain a friend.”

_That’s a hard blow._

As a child, Momo was a colorful little girl who imagined leaving traces of her rainbows everywhere she went. She made friends even with people a kid like her would normally wouldn’t befriend. Growing up, she wanted to stay that way: positive and kind in a world that needed it the most. 

However, Momo would be lying if she said that there weren’t people who looked down on her optimism. A handful of people have tried explaining to her what the “real” world is like: tough and cruel to people like her. Those types of people are the ones Momo--even with the damage they unknowingly leave behind--want to be kinder to. 

They need kindness the most. 

Mina is one of those people. 

“Okay.” An unfamiliar kind of confidence seeps through Momo’s veins. She pulls out her legs from its tucked position and stretches them in front of her. She leans back and lets her elbows hold her up. 

“You look like you have a whole book to share.” Momo rests her head back and looks up at the ceiling. “I’d like to be the receiving end of that.” 

For the first time, she feels like she’s ahead of Mina now. 

And for the first time as well, Mina looks like she’s taken aback by the certainty in Momo’s voice. 

***

To be honest, Momo did not expect Mina to take the bait. 

She expected Mina to laugh at her or smell the stench of her fear using her super senses. She did _not_ expect Mina to look at her for a whole ten seconds, eyes suddenly void of the darkness in them and replaced with something akin to vulnerability, and actually tell an entire freaking _book_ of her problems. 

_Others have stories. Mina has an entire book. A series even._

The more she gets to know about Mina, the more she feels something blossom inside of her. Something she _wished_ and tried so hard to get rid of, only to fail more. 

_Ballet ran in Mina’s blood. She’s expected to be the Prima Ballerina for this year’s production. She’s expected to be the face of the dance school. Everybody’s trying to get under her nose and stick to her. But nobody really likes her because she’s the spoiled granddaughter of the directress. Her grandmother doesn’t even like her._

By the time Mina is finished, her chest is rising up and down from the lengthy storytelling she didn’t know her timid and held-back self could be able to achieve, her hair is spread out on the floor like a halo around her head, and she’s lying down beside Momo. 

Momo only watches and lies on her side, head propped up by her elbow. 

Silence engulfs them again and Momo thinks Mina’s actions and words are too sober to be called drunk (The ballerina told her with a rather cheerful gasconade, “I think I finished more than one bottle! I don’t even drink!”)

It’s adorable, really. Even if she’s simply a stranger to the pretty girl. 

The stillness in the room is quiet enough for Momo to hear Mina’s jagged breathing. If she listens in and leans closer, she’d likely hear the ballerina’s heart cadence as well. But Momo doesn’t move an inch. The distance is enough. It’s safe. 

(Because the longer she stays with Mina, in this ballet dance room, basking in the light of the moon coming from the window, the more Momo realizes she might be the drunk one between them. Mina is intoxicating.) 

The comfortable silence is abruptly broken by the unlikely culprit that is Mina herself, just when Momo thinks she couldn’t get any more surprised by the timid ballerina. 

“What’s your dream?” 

It’s an unlikely question but Momo doesn’t complain. She purses her lips in thought, digging through the mountain of ambitions she’s made up ever since she was a little girl. A Barbie Princess would be too naive even if 4 to 8-year-old Momo beg differ, and a world-class choreographer and dancer cost too much.

Momo settles for the realistic one. “Probably to become rich.” 

Mina frowns and makes sure Momo can see it, turning to glance at the Japanese dancer. “That’s too general. Everyone dreams of that.” 

“Do you dream of that?” 

“I’m already rich.” 

The subtle flexing elicits a roll of Momo’s eyes. “Oh, right.” She takes a deep breath and thinks. “Hmm, I’d probably run my own studio or do anything that involves dancing, and _then_ get filthy rich.” 

“What’s your back-up plan? If you don’t achieve that.” Mina’s already lying on her side, head propped up by her elbow. 

“Probably get a rich girlfriend and _then_ ask her if I can have my own studio.” 

Mina chuckles with that elegant laugh again, Momo is _struck_ hard by Cupid’s arrow. She smiles and it’s genuine and dreamy and Momo is literally drunk on Mina’s existence. 

“You’re going to leech off on your poor girlfriend?” She playfully purses her lips and Momo might just consider the sight a cultural asset to Japan. “I pity her. She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.” 

Momo shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I don’t have much but she also gets something in return.” 

“What is it?” Mina smiles cheekily, _naughtily._

It doesn’t even require that much pondering. Momo’s dreamt it ever since she found out she liked girls. “We’ll probably live somewhere in the mountains and raise our own dogs. I love dogs but I’m allergic to them. But we can make exemptions.” She smiles at her own dream. “I’d also cook for her. Breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner. We’d have those cute little dates everywhere. By the window having coffee, over dinner after work, or even on bed after waking up or before sleeping. And we’ll talk, a lot. I’ll listen to every one of her stories, and I’ll tell her I love her everytime I can, and that probably means every living second. I don’t have money but I’ll make sure she feels like she’s the happiest every second with me.” 

The moment she’s finished, Momo finds herself on the receiving end of Mina’s hard gaze, a fusion between absolute horror and pleasurable contemplation. 

It ends with a one-sided smile. “That’s an awful lot of domesticity.” It turns into a whole smile. “I think you just raised my standards there. Kudos to you.” 

Momo feels like she just won the lottery. Her heart, thankfully, doesn’t break her out of her chest from the erratic beating. _I think I can die now…_

Mina turns to rest down on her back again. She laces her fingers together on her stomach. The smile doesn’t leave her lips. “Whoever’s going to be your girlfriend some day, I’m sure she’s going to be the luckiest to have you.” 

If Momo could do somersaults then and there, she would have. She wanted to shout the butterflies in her stomach out. She wanted to run wild and declare her insurmountable contentment to the world. She looks like an idiot for grinning so widely but who cares? _It’s Myoui Mina I’m beside with._

Unlike the previous comfortable silence, this one’s easy and lighthearted. And short. Because Mina suddenly jerks up to a sit and swiftly turns to Momo with an ecstatic smile and nice idea, “Do you want to see my routine?” 

Momo feels like she’s dead. An angel is literally in front of her. “Routine?” 

Mina nods, standing up. “For the Giselle auditions. I”m going up against Ayako-san and she’s probably going to win the role but meh,” she shrugs her shoulders and begins stretching her arms side to side, warming up. “I just want to give them a good show.” 

Momo sits up, the idiotic grin still plastered on her face. “Sure, yeah. I’d love to see your routine.” 

“Great. Could you go over there?” Mina points to the stereo system across the room. Momo does so. “Play Adolphe Adam.” 

Momo looks through the shelf of CDs and pulls out the case labeled **Adam: Giselle.** She places the compact disk on the CD slot. She clicks the play button and turns to Mina, already in position. 

The music begins playing and Mina begins dancing. 

(Momo dives blindly and falls head-first.)

***

They’re done and on the floor, laughing, by 2AM. 

The only time Momo stops imitating a silly robot dance she saw online and Mina stops rolling on the floor, (elegantly) laughing her ass off, is when a knock on the door plays along with their blissful laughter. 

It’s also the only time truth hits Momo like a bulldozer. _I’m not supposed to be here._

Mina glances at Momo briefly before standing up and tending to the door. Before turning the knob, she faces Momo and tells her to be silent with an index finger pressed against her lips.

Mina opens the door a little, enough for only her face to come into view. “Otetsudai-san…” 

Momo is clueless and nervous, only listening in at the whispering conversation between Mina and one of the househelpers.

It ends with Mina shaking her head, uttering a low _thank you_ , and closing the door softly. She turns around to face Momo and heads for her heels and necklace idle on the floor. She picks them up. 

“What happened?” Momo whispers, doesn’t know why she is when they were just cackling a few minutes ago. “Is it your grandmother?” 

Mina shakes her head as she begins strapping her heels. “No, it was one of the helpers. She said grandmother demanded I stay for the night--or morning, whatever.” 

“And why are you putting your heels on?” Momo doesn’t know why as well, but she’s doing exactly the same with her shoes, sliding her feet inside and tying up her shoelaces. 

“Because I’m a bad granddaughter”, Mina turns around and lifts her hair up again. She hands her necklace to Momo. “And I don’t want to sleep in the same house as the devil.”

Momo frowns at the necklace on Mina’s soft palm. “I thought you didn’t want to wear that because it felt like a rope tied around your neck by grandmother?” 

“Oh yeah...” Mina whispers and trails off, contemplating herself how mechanic it is for her to submit to her controlling grandmother. She puts down her hair and pockets the necklace instead. “Thank you for not letting me fall into the trap.” She flashes a wide smile and a wink at Momo.

(Momo feels like she’s on cloud nine)

They stand up and Momo finds herself following Mina to the door. It only occurs to her then that it’s already three in the morning and everyone’s probably left already, and they’re the only lively souls up and awake at such a dead hour. 

“Wait.” Momo stops. Mina is pulled back. She didn’t even know Mina had been holding her hand and pulling her. “Where do we go now?”

 _We?_ It slipped off her lips. She badly wants to take it back now. The assumption of a _we_ between her and Mina is preposterous and unlikely. _Now, she’s going to laugh at me. Can I ask her for some change though? I need a taxi ride home--_

“My place?” 

Momo feels her heart stop. _What…_

Mina holds back on turning the knob. She notices the look of shock on the dancer’s face. “Or do you want your place? I mean, anywhere is fine with me. I just think my apartment is nearer? It’s just a walking distance away.”

Momo gulps her entire life down. “Uh...your place...is fine…” 

_Has the world finally decided to take my side?_

Mina smiles. “Okay. Come on.” She opens the door. “Let’s get out of this place.” 

***

(Somewhere in between walking down the desolate sidewalks, under the moonlight, with their hands unknowingly brushing against each other, Momo asks the pretty ballerina beside her, “Are you still drunk?”

_Because this feels like a dream and there’s no way someone like you wants my company._

Mina glances at her with an _are-you-serious_ look and when she sees Momo’s _I’m-serious_ face, she immediately steps ahead and makes Momo stop walking. “If I were drunk, could I do this?” 

And she immediately begins walking in a straight line, arms stretched to the sides, balancing herself like she’s on a tightrope.

Mina walks a perfect straight line and Momo laughs. “Okay, okay. You’re good.”)

***

What do you expect from an heiress’ apartment?

Momo expects gold walls, diamond chandeliers, and everything expensive. 

What she gets from Mina’s apartment is a flickering lightbulb in the vestibule, a second door with a broken lock, and an entire place with one room, a bathroom, and a functional space considered a combined living room and kitchen area. The walls aren’t gold; they’re a shade of cream. There aren’t any diamond chandeliers; there’s a simple rectangular warm-white ceiling light. Everything’s not expensive; but there are a number of them. 

There’s an LED flatscreen TV adjacent to the sofa in the living space. In less than a meter beside the sofa is a four-seater dining table with an empty vase on top. Nothing special. Oh, the refrigerator is _stocked_ though. That’s rich enough. 

“Dull, I know”, Mina sighs as she takes her heels off the moment she enters her apartment and leaves them haphazardly on the floor. Momo fixes it to the side and takes off her own. She heads for the sofa and quietly sits down like a behaved guest.

Mina walks over to the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of wine from the fridge and some snacks from the cupboards.

At the sight that greets her, Momo is horrified. "Are we going to drink?"

Mina plops down on the fur rug and places the bottle of wine on the coffee table. "Well if you don't want to, I will. You can eat the snacks."

The lack of any glassware to put the wine in is worrying Momo even more. She only stares at Mina questioningly. 

"And you're going to drink from the bottle?"

Mina only shrugs as she begins removing the cork from the bottle with a corkscrew she managed to bring along. 

Frankly, Momo is beginning to question Mina's soberness. _She might've just walked a straight line because she could. I mean, she's a ballerina for god's sake!_

It hits Momo. _Damn, I was fooled._ And partially, it causes a certain reaction from her heart as well. _Is this...disappointment?_

"Don't frown at me." She only realizes Mina had been looking at her the entire time the moment she snaps out and feels the tense creasing of her eyebrows. 

"I'm not drunk, okay?" The cork is removed successfully. "I just think wine is good company and it makes me feel more at ease." 

Momo relents. She takes a good look around the place from her seat again. Something about Mina's rather average apartment just doesn't sit right with her. Although the place _is_ bigger than Momo's own dorm, the thought of a ballerina heiress living in such a modest apartment feels unreal.

"Are you appalled by the mediocrity of my apartment?" Mina chugs down her first go at the bottle of wine and immediately scrunches her entire face at the bitter taste.

Momo chuckles with a nod. _She still looks beautiful though._ "Is this where you live?"

"Not really", Mina reads the wine's label and frowns at the **2011** label, explains the awful taste. "Only until the year ends. I just needed a place near the studio." 

"And you live with your parents after?"

Mina purses her lips, pondering. "Not that much, as well."

Momo frowns. If she doesn't live here and not as often as with her parents… "Then where do you live?" 

"Why? Are you going to come live with me if I tell you where?" 

It's sneaky and utterly mischievous, and Momo's heart is beating erratically again. "W-What…"

Mina lets out a graceful smile. "I have three other properties under my name. Two in the city and a log cabin in some small town my grandparents used to travel a lot at." She takes another swig at the wine and frowns at the bitter aftertaste again. "I'd probably live at the log cabin after ballet school." 

The subtle flexing elicits an indignant scoff from Momo. It only confirms the other life of Mina, the lowkey ballerina heiress. 

"A log cabin?" Her eyes glimmer at the vivid image of a beautiful house somewhere in the winter wonderland, away from the fast-paced city. "I love those! My parents used to take me and my sister to rest houses in the province and we used to stay in log cabins a lot."

Mina smiles at the blissful woman before her. "Really? Then would you like to join me some time and visit the log cabin? You can bring your friends along but I'd prefer it to be...an intimate gathering."

Momo takes her up on that offer (although the last part is easily questionable for the reason that Momo did _not_ get that) 

"After Giselle production, what do you plan on doing?"

The Giselle production, as per Mina's explanation, is the ballet department and the dance school's final production of the year. It's the grandest event and all students of the dance school are requested, if not at all required, to support in any way they can. 

"Probably inherit the dance school, I guess?" 

The subtle flaunting of her wealth is never not funny to Momo. "I love how easy you make it sound like,'' she laughs. "Would _you_ like to inherit it though? I mean, you're not your grandma's biggest fan…"

Mina nods to that. "I'm most certainly not but I really do love ballet, though. And inheriting the dance school would mean I'm getting rid of my grandma. So it's like killing two birds with one stone. And besides, inheriting the school doesn't exactly mean I have to _run_ it. I can manage it even when I'm away."

"Away?"

"I'd probably follow my coach to Russia and do ballet there." 

Momo's heart drops. "You're going to leave?"

Mina rests her head on Momo's knee. "No, I'm just going to train there. I'd still visit here from time to time." She looks up at Momo with a sneaky grin. "Why? Are you going to miss me?"

_Yes._

Momo scoffs. "Why would I?"

Mina rolls her eyes and lays her head down on Momo's knee again.

“Thought so…" she whispers with underlying disappointment.

***

Mina ends up getting drunk halfway through her bottle of wine. 

Momo takes away the expensive bottle and returns it in the chiller. She walks back to the living room and fixes the mess they left on the rug and on the coffee table. Down the hall she can hear Mina's heavy grumbles with every movement of her body. She complains of sore muscles but Momo doubts it. The alcohol’s just gotten into her system and she’s now mentally rigid and lazy to do anything else.

After cleaning up the entire living area and throwing away the crumbs of chips on the floor, Momo heads for Mina’s room. She stands by the door first and catches a glimpse of Mina splayed on her queen-sized bed like a starfish. 

Momo hesitates to enter the room. She had always felt uncomfortable entering someone else’s personal space, let alone their bedroom. 

Her eyes must have been boring holes on Mina’s sluggish figure because the ballerina cranes her neck trying to look at Momo’s trajectory. “What are you doing there?” She rolls over to her stomach and pats the space on her bed. “Come hereee~”

It takes a lot of internal encouraging for Momo to take cautious steps inside Mina’s room. She doesn’t even get to appreciate the room itself for Mina immediately pulls her down on the bed with her and now they’re lying beside each other, bodies facing opposite ends (Mina towards her window and Momo towards the door on the other side of the room) but their faces are barely a few inches away from one another. 

The intoxicating smell of Mina’s expensive perfume is withering away and is ousted by the lingering traces of alcohol on her breath. 

Momo never liked what liquor did to people, but when she throws a sidelong glance at Mina and her flushed cheeks, her lips the shade of a vivid crimson color, and the way her long eyelashes rest peacefully on her cheeks as her eyes close, Momo thinks alcohol might just be a biased son of a gun.

“Hey stranger...” 

Momo looks away immediately. The ceiling is more beautiful than she expected. Each and every crack and crevice complements the bareness of the white surface alongside the rectangular ceiling light. _Honestly, maybe I should get a warm white light as well…_

There’s shuffling beside her and Momo is too _horrified_ to turn and see. 

“I haven’t been able to ask you this, funnily enough when I’ve already told you my entire life story”, Mina slurs some words but is still audibly articulate. She’s on her stomach now, head perched up on her clenched fist and elbow. “But, what were you doing in my dance room earlier this morning?” 

(Momo thinks the mind works in a weird, funny way. 

She can’t quite recall what she had for breakfast today. Doesn’t even remember what she ate first when the food arrived during the banquet. She had failed to think about Yeonjae worrying and waiting for her. And now she had completely and stupidly forgotten all about her barging in Mina’s dance room earlier this morning.

Momo thinks it’s definitely stupid of her as well to even _think_ that Mina’s mind works the same as hers when she’s hit her head as a young kid and ended up at the last ten of her class every year, and Mina’s probably never gotten a rank lower than first her entire life. 

How dare she expect Mina to _forget_ the face of a _burglar.)_

“You…” It leaves Momo’s lips in a wavering whisper. Her eyes flutter at the flushed face of the celestial woman beside her. “You remember?”

 _But you clearly just called me a stranger a few seconds ago? Oh my god. What if..._ Momo begins questioning her sanity. _What if I’m the one who’s drunk?_

The sight of a dumbfounded Momo is amusing despite Mina’s hazy vision. She moves up on the bed and sits by the headboard, leaning back on it. She pats the space beside her and pulls Momo up to sit beside her. 

At the touch of their hands, Momo feels a jolt of electricity course through her entire body. She lets herself get pulled up to the headboard.

Their shoulders brush. Mina makes sure there’s barely any space for movement in between them. A lot of people don’t see her as this, but she actually likes the feeling of being close to someone, the feeling of comfortable body contact.

When she doesn’t feel the way Momo’s shoulders tense at their proximity, Mina decides to sate her yearning and rest her head on Momo’s broad shoulders, burying it back as much as comfort lets her, and interlacing their fingers together _just because Momo’s look like they’re really soft and nice to hold._

Momo, with all of the remaining sanity and strength inside of her, suppresses the urge to laugh at the tickling sensation of Mina’s hair on her neck. “Can I ask something?” 

“Sure.” Mina feels a headache creeping in. She continues to draw small circles on the back of Momo’s hand with her thumb. 

Momo remembers the bloodshot eyes that greeted her, mussed hair and the bags futilely hidden under concealer. “If you remember who I am then why did you pretend like you didn’t know me the entire night?”

The circles on her hand stop. For a brief moment, Momo suddenly wants to take back her question. _Why the heck do I even want to know the answer? She’s probably just going to say she just really didn’t remember. Nothing special._

The foreign yet familiar weight of Mina’s head disappears from Momo’s shoulder. Mina is suddenly looking right at her. 

Momo gulps a boulder down her throat and doesn’t dare face the likely cause of her death. 

Mina gladly takes the matter in her own hands. “I’m sorry, _Momo_.” She tilts the dancer’s chin to her direction. “I didn’t pretend to not know you. I just found myself a lot more comfortable at venting out to you, I got carried away and forgot to mention it.” 

“So...you do remember me?” Momo is _lost_ in Mina’s eyes. 

Mina smiles and nods. “Hirai Momo. Urban dance.” 

_Myoui Mina is intoxicating._

Hirai Momo is absolutely a clueless idiot who should read chapters on What Leads to Kissing because she has no inkling of an idea what to do when Mina, _Myoui Mina, the ballerina heiress and the granddaughter of the dance school’s directress, the very same dance school she is indebted to,_ is leaning closer towards her in a trajectory that is below the tip of her nose and slightly above her chin, just exactly where her lips are supposed to be, and it’s a dangerous turn of events because the whole world knows Momo has a big fat crush on the unattainable ballerina and Mina is drunk to the capital D and will most likely regret this tomorrow--or _later_ \--and honestly _oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god_

Mina doesn’t stop and doesn’t settle for the cheeks. She dives right in, blindly, head-first, _lips first,_ on Momo’s own soft ones, and forgets the course of the day, forgets the worries of tomorrow, forgets the pressure of the world. 

All she can think of is Momo’s lips, and how they taste like the spicy prawn crackers they just ate a few minutes ago. Mina’s always liked the thrill of the taste and always wanted to find out for herself whether _spicy_ was never really a taste but more of a sensation, the combination of heat and pain. 

_Mina’s always loved spicy._

Momo honestly feels like her soul is getting sucked out of her body. In an intoxicating, _never-will-I-get-enough-of-this, where-is-this-confidence-coming-from_ way, her body is betraying what she’s telling it not to do. 

Hirai Momo tells herself _no_ , but her hands snake around Mina’s waist and only pull her close, deepening the kiss. 

Momo feels like she’s out breath, and Mina’s lips are her oxygen tank. 

Somewhere in their close proximity, Momo finally finds Mina’s expensive perfume smell. Somewhere in their close proximity, it feels like she’s the one who got drunk on a bottle of wine and Mina’s the one who finished a whole pack of prawn crackers. 

Momo’s hands remain around Mina’s ballerina waist, and Mina’s arms are tangled behind Momo’s head, desperately holding on and thanking the heavens above they’re not standing because her knees are faltering. 

Nobody knows how long they’ve been trying to figure out each other’s lips, but when Momo pulls away, she’s breathless and Mina’s just the same, chest heaving up and down in a profoundly attractive way, Momo has half the urge to make out again if it weren’t for the realization that she’s just _made out with the granddaughter of the directress and the highest of the high, someone way out of her league, Myoui Mina._

“That was…” Mina is out of breath, panting. She can’t even think of any words to describe the feeling of Momo on her lips. She lets out an airy chuckle. “I should let you eat more spicy prawn crackers next time.” 

Momo is dazed and lost in the powerfully attractive oceans in Mina Myoui’s eyes. She stares at the ballerina even as she chooses to lie down on the bed and tug at Momo’s own hands to follow her down. 

When the white sheets come in contact with Momo’s skin, it’s only does she realize how warm she feels all throughout her body. She’s face to face with Mina, and the tip of their noses briefly brush against each other at their proximity. 

It’s bare and warm and utterly unreal. Momo feels like she’s literally dying and this is all the Lord’s doing, granting her last wish. 

“Momo…” Mina whispers, and the smell of alcohol no longer traces her breath. Her lips are still an incredibly dark shade of red and a little more plumped, and her cheeks are flushed she looks like she’s going to have a fever. 

Momo is honestly worried (if only she knew she looked just the same).

Mina runs her impossibly-soft fingers through Momo’s disheveled hair, to the back of her head, and to the hair tie that fastens her hair up. She pulls at it, letting loose a clump of wavy, floral-scented hair. Mina does the same with hers, untying the cheap scrunchie that held up her half-ponytail. 

“Stay here with me.” She lets her hand rest on Momo’s cheek. Her eyes are finally growing heavy from the overwhelming effects of alcohol and an intense makeout session, consciousness slowly ebbing away. Mina had never really held enough power to resist against her languor. “Later when we wake up…” yet she _tries,_ for the sake of Momo’s company. “I want to be beside you…” 

It’s only then Mina falls entirely to her exhaustion, leaving Momo awake in a semiconscious state, electrified by the feeling of the ballerina’s lips on hers and her heart beating in a terrifyingly erratic way, with only the moon and the stars as the witnesses of what had transpired between them. 

_Myoui Mina is intoxicating and Hirai Momo will never get enough of her._

***

***

Mina’s body never betrays her. 

All her life, she’s lived by a perpetual routine that, even at the slightest change, always finds its way back. 

She wakes up at 7AM and strictly abides by a low-calorie, protein-rich diet; That includes yogurt for breakfast and if she’s lucky, an iced Americano to complete everything. After breakfast, Mina does her morning yoga and stretches, and then heads to the shower. She’s at the dance school before 9AM and practices until 8PM. She gets dinner on the way home--preferably something light like a salad with grilled chicken or fish. Mina does her cool-downs and showers, and makes sure she’s asleep by 10PM.

Mina’s been doing the exact same routine in the last twenty years of her life that even the biggest altercation cannot deter her anymore. _Biggest_ being eating way more than her diet restricts her in one sitting, drinking more than one bottle of _wine_ in one night, and sleeping _way_ past her bedtime, limiting her to less than five hours of sleep.

She’s exhausted, to say the least. And there’s a godawful headache trying to split her head in half when she wakes up to her alarm at strictly 7AM. 

Normally, Mina takes great enjoyment and satisfaction at watching the sun’s light trickle through the white curtains of her window, but now it’s a different issue. When the daylight bleeds into the room and casts light upon Mina’s drooping eyelids, the first thing the ballerina does is turn to her side. 

She’s fully awake( that, she acknowledges) and despite the threatening after-effects caused by drinking an excess of alcohol, she still remembers perfectly her wish before she slept. _Later when we wake up,_ _I want to be beside you._

So when it’s Momo’s face that greets her eyes first thing in the morning, Mina suddenly realizes that her perpetual routine _finally_ has a reason to be broken.

Momo is adorable when asleep, despite the slight trickle of drool trailing down her unlatched jar lips. Her eyelashes are long and resting peacefully on her cheeks, the left more plump than the other due to her position, lying on her left side to face Mina. 

Mina is awake, but she spends her designated time for yoga on the bed, head resting on her pillows, watching as Momo’s chest rises and falls rhythmically with her calculated breaths. It’s weird, how she’s not feeling any regret for the events of last night. It’s unreal how Mina feels so at ease with the situation, as if there’s something about Momo that makes everything feel like it was meant to happen. 

_Momo was meant to happen._

***

Momo is not a heavy sleeper. 

When her body takes in the sudden absence of warmth beside her, followed by the movement of the sheets, and the screeching of the bed, her first instinct is to open her eyes and take a look at all the ruckus that has disrupted her _beautiful_ sleep. 

Now, Momo does not condone interrupted sleep. She believes and completely wants to raise awareness on the _serious_ overall health effects of disturbed rest. Momo knows. It’s the only scientific topic she researched on as a kid in order to gain factual basis whenever she argued with Hana.

Momo does not overlook the interruption of a settled and peaceful condition. 

But if all interruptions were a sight of Myoui Mina’s graceful dress-clad back, shoulder blades protruding on soft, porcelain skin, and hips swaying attractively with every step, Hirai Momo might consider a lifetime subscription.

Unfortunately for her, the subscription doesn’t get to last longer than five minutes because the strange intimacy is broken by the sound of Momo’s phone ringing and vibrating from the pocket of her tracksuit.

_I forgot to put it on vibrate?!_

Momo tries to muffle the sound by pushing the phone down to the mattress of the bed and lying on top of it with a heavy grunt, but Mina has already spun around by the time she’s successfully muffled the ringing and is facing her with an amused smile at the sight of Momo twisted in the sheets.

“You’re up....” The smile doesn’t leave Mina’s lips even as she whispers more to herself than to Momo. “I was just going to go and get some breakfast for us. Do you want anything?” 

The sight is breathtaking. Momo feels like she’s dreaming, if not for the sudden ringing of her phone again. “I...uh…” 

Mina laughs. “It’s alright. You can answer that first. I’ll just be in the kitchen.” She walks out of the room and leaves Momo in a state of temporary unconsciousness. Everything feels so strangely intimate and warm and Momo is honestly at a loss of words. 

_We slept together. I’m on her bed. She was going to get breakfast for the both of us. Oh my god. Isn’t this a little too domestic for two girls who just met last night?_

Momo’s lack of present-day thinking urges her to answer the call absentmindedly, still in the blissful daze of Mina Myoui. She doesn’t even get to lift the phone up to her ear when she hears the vehement voice of the one and only Son Yeonjae.

 _“YOU’RE NOT DEAD!”_ It’s said with such an overflowing amount of relief and frustration, Momo can’t help but simply applaud the versatility of her friend. _“OH MY GOD!”_

Momo can’t even say a single word in between the downpour of Yeonjae’s questions. _“Where are you? Did you leave me last night? Seriously? Are you okay now, though? Will you go to school today? Do you want me to pick you up? Wait a minute, where the heck are you? And who are you with?!”_

The initial plan of thoroughly (and carefully) explaining to Yeonjae the situation Momo’s got herself in all goes down the drain at the last question. “How do you know I’m with someone?” 

To be honest, Momo was never the type to outsmart Yeonjae. One way or another, the gymnast would _always_ be a step ahead of the dancer. It was simply the dynamic of their friendship. The nonverbal negotiation had been proven useful for Momo _most_ of the time, exemptions only including now. 

“ _Oh. My. God.”_ The emphasis scares Momo with every increasing stress. She can just imagine the shock on Yeonjae’s face (and the dreadful interrogation waiting for her). _“Did you have a one night stand?!”_

Momo doesn’t even understand the implications of a one-night stand. Technically speaking, sexual intercourse is its “main ingredient”, and Momo and Mina didn’t have any of that. Their situation does not fall under the conditions of a one-night stand. _So it’s not one._

“No?” Unfortunately, Momo’s never been sure of herself. “I mean, we didn’t have any of... _that…_?” 

There’s a brief pause on the other line, followed by Yeonjae’s own pondering. _“So you just slept with someone? Like a sleepover?”_

“Well, if you put it that way it sounds childish.” 

_“Is it serious then?”_

Momo is honestly asking the same thing. _Is this going to be just a one-time thing for Mina?_ “I actually don’t know. You’re the smart one between us. Help me figure it out.” 

Yeonjae hums. _“Where are you now?”_

Momo snuggles herself under Mina’s _expensive-smelling_ sheets. “In her bed.” 

“ _Wow._ ”

Momo can just imagine the rolling eyes of her friend. It sends an amused, satisfied smile on her face. 

Yeonjae’s voice falls into a murmur. _“...Is she with you right now?”_

“Why are you whispering?” 

_“I don’t know? It just feels like I’m invading your privacy.”_

Momo only shrugs, confused herself. “She’s not here. She’s in the kitchen making breakfast.” 

_“That sounds awfully too domestic for a first-time encounter…”_

“I know right?” 

_“Are you serious with her?”_ Yeonjae lets out a scoff. _“I mean, I hope you are because you completely left me last night and I had to go home alone. I’m seriously going to get pissed at you if my efforts go to waste.”_

Momo only pouts apologetically, as if Yeonjae could see. “I’m really sorry about that. She just needed someone to talk to and I got carried away.” 

“ _Wait a minute…_ ”

The mischievous tone easily slips Momo into a state of reflection. _Did I say something suspicious?_

(If Yeonjae wasn’t a gymnast, she would have been a world-class detective.)

_“She was at the banquet?”_

(And if Momo wasn’t a dancer, she would have been the worst liar ever.)

“No…?” It leaves her lips in an uncertain tone, it betrays her entire being. _Crap._

There’s a thud that resonates from the other line. Yeonjae must have hit something. “ _Aha!”_ Momo thinks its the vacant top bunk of her useless double-deck bed. “ _She was at the banquet!”_

“Did you hit your head again on the top bunk?” It's stratagem to get herself out of the topic. If they were playing a game, Yeonjae would already be winning--as expected. 

Unfortunately, Momo could never deceive someone as ridiculously intelligent as Son Yeonjae. 

“ _But you were the only one who left early. We were all complete even after Mori-sensei left…”_ She’s piecing the puzzle out, one by one, speaking her mind out loud. Momo is honest-to-god horrified.

If Yeonjae finds out, she can only figure out two possible directions of the future. One, Yeonjae will hold no grudge on Momo and will completely live out the rest of their days normally. Nothing will happen. (That’s the best-case scenario) 

Sadly, the best-case scenario almost _always_ never happens, and the worst case scenario includes an insufferable Son Yeonjae and a debt Momo will forever carry on her shoulders because Yeonjae knows and Mina wouldn’t probably want anyone knowing that she just slept with a nobody like Momo. 

The worst-case scenario is most likely to take place. 

Momo is already in the middle of preparing her own coffin and VIP pass to the afterlife when a knock resounds from the door of the room. The knock is caused by a hand, and the hand is owned by the one and only Myoui Mina, hair tied up in a messy bun and clad in her clothes from last night’s banquet with an apron over it, carrying a tray of... _are those waffles?_

“I made waffles--…” It’s her normal-speaking voice, and Momo would have trade her all to hear it forever if only Yeonjae didn’t have supersonic hearing senses and wasn’t listening carefully on the other line.

Mina freezes at the sight of Momo still on her phone. Her tone lowers to a whisper. “Oh…” She tiptoes to the other side of her bed and places the tray down there. 

Momo honestly can’t help but feel a certain kind of warmth spread throughout her body. She’s flustered at the unfamiliar scene unfolding before her, but Yeonjae remains her grounded. 

_“Oh shit.”_

This is the first time Momo has ever heard the dignified gymnast swear. All this time, Yeonjae was little _Miss Perfect_ to Momo’s eyes and the gymnast never did once (even) _feign_ modesty, always quietly accepting the nickname, but now... _Now she curses?!_

“ _Momo, is that--”_

“Uh, what? Yeonnie?” Momo fakes the worst glitching sound in the entire history of fake glitching sounds. “I can’t hear you…!” She begins blowing on the speakers. “I think it’s the bad signal. Yeonnie? Are you still there?” 

“ _Momo, I swear, if you--”_

“You’re not?” 

“ _Don’t you dare--”_

“Okay. I love you! Bye!” 

Momo ends the call and throws the phone somewhere on the bed. She dives into the sheets face-first and lets out the most frustrated and humiliated groan ever. 

She’s definitely going to get it from Yeonjae someday. They will eventually have to meet, one way or another. Momo can’t suddenly disappear from the world without Yeonjae finding out. _The woman has superpowers._ Momo doesn’t even have the money to take a cab or leave Tokyo in general. _I’m doomed._

“Was that your friend?” 

Momo looks up from her position of misery, just in time to see Mina elegantly slicing a piece of the waffle and moving it to another plate. 

The waffle looks appetizing, but Momo can only stare at Mina more.

"The one you were with at the banquet?" 

The plate of sliced waffles is slid over towards the Momo. 

"Why'd you hang up on her?"

When the metal fork and breadknife make a small clang on the porcelain plate, Momo is pulled back into reality—or dream, whatever suits her current placement on Mina's bed, eating breakfast with Mina Myoui, her crush and the ballerina heiress.

"What were you saying again?" 

Mina chuckles before taking a fork of her own waffles into her mouth. "Why did you hang up on your friend?" 

Momo tries to take a good look at Mina's face. Her sun-kissed cheeks and constellation of moles are illuminated comfortably by the daylight pouring from the window, setting a heavenly spotlight on her, the gods clearly pointing out who their favorite creation is. 

“Mina…” Even simply saying her name out loud feels too surreal for Momo. She didn’t even expect Mina to hear her but when the ballerina looks up from her plate of waffles, looking so attentive at whatever Momo is going to say, Momo feels like she’s been blessed by the gods. _Maybe Mina’s not their only favorite?_

“What...is this?” 

It’s a question for all the questions in Momo’s mind. _The_ question that didn’t get her any good sleep last night. The same question her own heart is asking her and _will_ pester her with to the ends of the world if left unanswered. _Mina must be intelligent enough to get it, right? I don’t know any other way to point it out._

“Oh,'' Mina's face falls and Momo wants to behead herself for making her smile fade away. “It was my first time trying to do this. I’m sorry if it didn’t go well.” 

Mina is crestfallen and Momo will gladly accept her fate even if it included the ballerina only stringing her along. 

“It’s just that…” Momo was _never_ one to verbally express her emotions and thoughts. She almost failed Literature class in high school _twice_. “This is my first time and I don’t even know what I am to you and how we ended up like this. I’m just...really confused at everything? I mean, I don’t regret anything though because I’ve had a crush on you ever since the first time we met and I honestly don’t mind anything. It’s just that, I’m really lost?” 

Something must be wrong because Mina’s face doesn’t look like she expected Momo’s outburst of thoughts. She’s only blinking at the dancer before her, on her bed, one cheek puffed from the unchewed waffle bit. Mina has half the mind to poke Momo’s cheek, but then she remembers the serious conversation they’re having--the same one she _totally_ misunderstood because, 

“I thought we were talking about the waffles…” Mina honestly wants to smack her head. She feels guilty for misunderstanding Momo’s intentions. “I’m sorry, Momo.” If Momo didn’t know her way with words, she had a reason. Mina didn’t have any. She was constantly in the honors’ list for English and Nihongo class, is multilingual, and was even born abroad.

Why the hell couldn’t she give Momo any answer?

***

(Momo doesn’t cry but her hands tremble as she types a message for Yeonjae. 

**_pick me up pls._ **

Attached to it is the address of the nearest waiting shed near Mina’s dorm.

When she walks out of the bathroom almost half an hour later, Mina is sitting on the edge of her now neatly-fixed bed, tapping her foot apprehensively on the floor, hands laced together, looking like an anxious mom. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Mina jerks up to a stand the moment Momo walks out of the bathroom. 

With the entire remaining ounce of strength inside of her, Momo musters up a smile. Whether it’s genuine or not, nobody knows. “Yeah, I’m okay. Uh…” She looks around the room and realizes she doesn’t have anything to collect, unlike those morning-after scenes in the movies she’s watched where the other guy who has to go still has to collect his things, making room for confrontation. No, Momo doesn’t want any of that anymore. 

“I have to go, Mina.” Momo doesn’t even spare the ballerina a single look. (She doesn’t know what can happen if their eyes ever meet)

“Oh…” the disappointment is obvious in Mina’s tone, but Momo’s too occupied with leaving the room, she doesn’t notice it. “Do you want me to give you a ride? I can--”

“No, my friend’s going to pick me up.” 

“I can walk you out, then…” Mina’s already grabbing her coat from behind the door of her room. 

Momo stops her halfway. “It’s okay. You should prepare for classes today.” 

“Mine doesn’t start until--”

“I have to go.” Momo holds tightly on her phone and walks out to the vestibule where she left her shoes. She slips them halfway and hastily, heels poking out, and leaves the room without any other word. 

Mina is only left standing across the door, watching as Momo leaves her without any goodbye.)

***

Yeonjae rushes to the rescue like a knight in shining armor except she doesn’t come with a horse but with a shiny Lexus. 

The one thing Momo loves the most about her gymnast friend--amongst a myriad of other lovable traits--is Yeonjae’s razor-sharp ability to pick up clues and understand quickly the situation. 

When Momo steps inside the car, lips pursing into a small frown and brows dipping to meet above the root of her nose, Yeonjae already knows something bad has happened and she should know better than to coerce the information out of her friend. 

They drive to Momo’s dorm in silence. Yeonjae focuses on navigating through Tokyo’s sidestreets, avoiding traffic at the main avenue. Momo puts her attention to the lives of the strangers from outside the window, wishing she were them instead, not worrying about getting their hearts broken by a mere  _ I’m sorry you felt that way. _

Momo should blame herself, to begin with. Who was she even to expect that someone like Mina would like her back? It may not be  _ full-force  _ love but Momo knows what she feels--at least, during that time--and she knows she has feelings for Mina. 

Unfortunately, Mina just doesn’t feel the same way. 

_ You put this on yourself. No one’s to blame here but you. _

When they arrive in Momo’s dorm, Yeonjae tries to tell her something in the lines of  _ don’t be late _ or whatever, but Momo barely hears her. She gets out the moment Yeonjae stops in front of her small dorm building. 

***

Here’s the thing: Yeonjae knows when to be the most understanding and when to just jump in. Clearly, her efforts of subtly seeking for an explanation to Momo’s scary silence did not work. 

So she moves to the next phase:  _ actually _ forcing an answer out of Momo. 

Sure, sometimes a prying friend is  _ the worst _ . But Momo left to suppress all of her emotions by herself results to a  _ sad  _ Momo and a sad Momo leads to a bad performance and a bad performance will get her kicked out of dance school. Yeonjae doesn’t want that.  _ Never _ . Therefore if she has to go follow Momo up to her dorm room and jam her foot in between the frame and the door before it closes, just to get Momo’s time and explanation, she does so. 

“What are you doing--” 

Yeonjae kicks the door open, enough for her to come in. “Tell me.” 

Momo doesn’t stop her and just watches as she walks straight to the tousled bed and plops down on it comfortably, as if they’ve done this a thousand times before and this isn’t Yeonjae’s first time in Momo’s dorm. 

With an exasperated sigh, Momo remains standing by the door. “What are you doing, Yeonnie?” 

Yeonjae makes a show of crossing her arms over her chest and staying put on the bed. “I’m not leaving here until you tell me what happened between you and your  _ pajama friend. _ Seriously, Momo. I don’t care if I miss out on my classes. You won’t be getting rid of me anytime soon until you spill.” 

Momo holds her  _ are-you-serious?  _ stare for a second longer than deemed necessary before deciding it’s futile to refuse Yeonjae of what she wants, and concedes with an indignant groan.

She stomps her way to her bed and falls on it face-first with a loud screech that ends up sounding like a dolphin screaming. It’s the only way Momo can release her frustration and sadness: yelling on to her pillow. 

They remain in their positions until Momo finally decides to lift her head up and take a breath. 

“I like her, Yeonnie.” Her voice is raspy from all the screaming but Yeonjae understands and runs a soft, comforting hand on her friend’s back. 

“But…?”

Momo groans. “But she doesn’t like me back!” 

_ There it is,  _ Yeonjae thinks.  _ The unrequited love trope again. _

“What makes you say that?” This is the first time they’ve stepped into the  _ love and hopeless crushes _ stage in their friendship and Yeonjae feels like she’s walking on eggshells. She doesn’t have enough background on relationships--hasn’t experienced a  _ single one _ \--to even give advice. 

Momo is clearly frustrated even more. “Because she said she didn’t know I felt  _ that  _ way! I spoke my  _ heart _ out to her about having a crush on her and things like that, and she told me she was sorry, she didn’t know I felt that way!”

She shoves her face down on the pillow again and lets out a remorseful shriek. 

Yeonjae looks at the time on her watch.  _ Yep, we’re going to be late this time. _ “Um, can you enlighten me about your pajama friend or whatever happened between you two? Maybe that can help. I need some background information before I dive in and give you my advice.” 

Momo looks up at her with a flat glare. “Are you serious?” 

Yeonjae isn’t, but she shrugs her shoulders. 

Momo sighs. With deep exasperation and a thousand grumbles in between, she tells the entire, explicit story of her night to her friend, leaving no detail unsaid. Yeonjae’s face juggles from five different expressions in a span of ten minutes, and it ends in a mundane  _ what the fuck. _

“I mean, do  _ friends  _ make out and just forget everything the next day?!” Yeonjae has never seen her usually bubbly friend this infuriated. “I don’t know if we’re even friends! I mean, we shared our deepest darkest secrets, or something like that, but it was our first time talking and getting to know each other!”

There’s a reason why Yeonjae didn’t take Psychology classes in college. 

“Friends can make out and still act normal, without the commitment and things like that.”  _ She sucked at understanding people’s emotions and thoughts.  _

When Momo shoots her a confused,  _ what-the-fuck _ look, Yeonjae explains, “You know Cream and K? Korean movie More Than Blue, 2009. They kissed a lot and lived with each other but they still remained exclusively  _ just _ friends.” 

Momo may not be the smartest but she knows her movies. “Yeah, and his love for Cream and frustration over their situation killed him in the end.”

“Nope.” Yeonjae replies with a pop at the last syllable. “I’m pretty sure it was the cancer that killed him.” 

“Whose side are you on here, Yeonnie?” 

Yeonjae shifts from her seat on the bed and lies on her side, propping her head up on her fist and elbow. “I’m just saying that your arrangement isn’t exactly normal but it’s also not new. And her saying that she’s sorry she didn’t know you felt that way doesn’t automatically mean she doesn’t like you back.” 

“Then what does it mean?” 

“Maybe she was just surprised, that’s all. You don’t get confessions everyday from someone you just made out and slept with. Maybe she thought...it was fickle love?” 

Momo frowns. “Fickle love? Like that boyband’s song?” 

Yeonjae’s not sure whether it was a pass on a joke or not, whatever. She makes sure Momo sees her deadpan glare. “You literally confessed the morning after you made out. Your pajama friend might have been afraid you were just saying it on the spur of the moment.” 

“First, stop calling her my  _ ‘pajama friend’ _ .” Momo grunts as she sits up on her bed. “And second, I just want to get over her. I like her  _ a lot _ , Yeonnie. And I want something. But I don’t think she’s the type to have feelings for someone like me.”

Yeonjae frowns as she looks up at her friend. “You’re already giving up on your first rejection?”

“What do you want me to do? Wait for the second, third, fourth rejection?” Momo gets up and begins tidying things around her room, picking up clothes on the floor and her towel hanging on the back of her study desk. 

“What I’m saying is: don’t give up.” The frown on Momo’s face only deepens. Yeonjae sighs in defeat. “Or at least, don’t cut her off that easily. She sounds  _ really _ nice, Momo. And who knows? She might probably like you back.” 

But Momo’s not really listening. That’s probably the only thing Yeonjae hates about her the most. When she’s deeply thinking of something, she shuts everything out and only half-heartedly listens,  _ at most. _

“I have an idea, Yeonnie.” 

_ It’s like telling her she’s walking towards the edge of a plank but she has earphones on so she doesn’t hear anything and ultimately falls to her own death. _

Yeonjae’s advice fades away into the air. “Momo, were you even listening to me?” It’s like she isn’t even in the same room. 

“I’m going to get over her but at the same time, figure out if she has feelings for me too. I have a plan.”

Yeonjae frowns, partially because she’s offended and mostly because Momo’s plans never work. “How the hell do you plan on doing that?” 

And Momo, with utmost confidence, turns to her friend and lets out the cheekiest wink ever, Yeonjae feels like throwing up. 

“Trust me on this one. I just need your support, okay?” 

“Why do you need my support?” Yeonjae, to be honest, is a  _ little _ wary. 

“Because you’re my friend.” 

Yeonjae throws her a flat glare. “Is that really why?”

Momo walks over to her bathroom. “ _ And _ because I need your ID to get access to the secret floor.” 

“What--”

But before she could even ask, Momo’s already inside her bathroom, shutting the door.

Yeonjae feels like all of Momo’s frustrations have been passed over to her.  _ What are you up to, Momo? _

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story of Mimo's relationship before 2yeon in iyth. This can stand alone but if you read closely, some of the parts here actually foreshadow aspects of Mimo's relationship in iyth. 
> 
> I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY AND READ!! PLEASE DO!! !!!! <3


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